Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/166

156 "And for these little simple airs—

I love to play them o'er

So much—I dare not promise, now,

To play them never more."

I answered—and it was enough;

They turned them to depart;

They could not read my secret thoughts,

Nor see my throbbing heart.

I've noticed many a youthful form,

Upon whose changeful face

The inmost workings of the soul

The gazer well might trace;

The speaking eye, the changing lip,

The ready blushing cheek,

The smiling, or beclouded brow,

Their different feelings speak.

But, thank God! you might gaze on mine

For hours, and never know

The secret changes of my soul

From joy to keenest woe.

Last night, as we sat round the fire

Conversing merrily,

We heard, without, approaching steps

Of one well known to me!

There was no trembling in my voice,

No blush upon my cheek,

No lustrous sparkle in my eyes,

Of hope, or joy, to speak;